


Dreams

by FelicityGS



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Petplay, falling, proof of concept
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicityGS/pseuds/FelicityGS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He falls.</p>
<p>(for the first time, there is nothing in his head—only silence.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyNogs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNogs/gifts).



> Just a very short and very quick proof of concept for a much longer fic that I'm writing with these two. Established relationship at this point. Cross-posted [here](http://fel-as-in-tumbld.tumblr.com/post/69296054102/proof-of-concept-for-the-long-form-natasha-loki)

_He falls._

(for the first time, there is nothing in his head—only  _silence._ )

There’s no air while falling, no movement—a blink and the stars may have changed but they are so distant he cannot tell, not truly, and they likely move on their own paths. He is not sure where he is, where he falls, only expects (hopes-prays) to die.

He falls and the cold does not eat at his bones

(thinks of  _why_  the cold does not eat his bones, watches skin change blue, twists in on himself, tries to  _rend_  to  _tear_ this is why this is—

"Loki."

He wakes, hand lashing out and closing around a throat that sears the palm of his hand. (not again, not ever again)

“ _Loki_.” Gentle. Calm.

He blinks.

He isn’t falling. He is in bed. The room is warm, too warm. His skin is blue and for a moment he cannot focus on anything else, only on his skin, only on pale lines that swirl across it like scars of a past life, a life lived in not-this-skin (a lie where he pretended to be something more than he is—

"Loki," Natasha says again, a hand gently brushing his wrist, and he lets go, rolling away.

"Nightmare," is all he says. She hums, moves close but not pressing, too hot fingertips brushing against his back. Runs along his spine; unthinking, he arches into the touch.

(not alone. not falling. safe, safe as he can be.)

Natasha does not pry. She only hums, only strokes along his spine a few minutes before her hand leaves and she rolls away from him in the bed.

It’s relief, when the collar is slipped around his throat. His eyes close, he breathes out—there are no stars behind his eyes. No intermitable fall. Only the brush of her fingers as she tests the space between collar and throat, the weight of the leather against his skin. He swallows, opens his eyes to look at her as her hands move from the collar up, fingers pressing lightly by one of his ears.

She smiles slim in the darkness, nails scratching against his scalp.

The rumble in his chest is hardly feline, and certainly would never be mistaken for a purr, but she only smiles wider and slowly, a little at a time, he edges closer, rolls over to press himself against her, curl around her as much as he can.

She is too hot, starfire, but his mind slips (deeper), turns surreal, dream. Peaceful.

(he barely remembered what peace was, before—

Her other hand comes up, tugs the collar—a reminder—and he stops. Sighs against her skin.

When he sleeps, he does not fall.


End file.
